When I Hear My Name
by XxMissQuinnxX
Summary: Allison and Hannah shared the same mother, but they never knew the other existed. Now, twenty years after Allison's birth, her younger sister, Hannah, tracks her down in Santa Carla, California - in the state's highest security prison. Full summary inside
1. Lunacy Fringe

Alrighty, for those of you who had started reading my other fic, I'm sorry! But I'm going to be working on this one for a while. I've worked hard on this one and on putting a strong back story with it, and I feel like it has a much stronger plot than my other story. So I really hope all of you enjoy it! I will try to update once a week. I may be slow at times as I do work full time and go to school, but I will do my best to update regularly. :]

Anyways... on to the fic!

**Disclaimer:** Unfortunately, I do not own the lost boys or any other characters or places from the movie. :[

**Summary: **Allison and Hannah shared the same mother, but they never knew the other existed. Now, twenty years after Allison's birth, her younger sister, Hannah, tracks her down in Santa Carla, California - in the state's highest security prison. Naïve and determined to bond with her older sister, Hannah seeks the help of the law, but when that fails, what ends will she go to for Allison? DavidxOC/DwaynexOC? Pairings may change.

**Lunacy Fringe**

"Allison, would you tell me about your mother and father?"

The voice was that of a rather bulbous man in his late fifties. His voice was calm, but his frustration was evident in his expression. The corners of his thin lips were pursed tightly and his forehead wrinkled when he spoke. There was a twitch too – in his left eye – that she had first noted a week ago, the day she'd stabbed him with her fork in the cafeteria, simply because the twitch had annoyed her. Needless to say, his left hand was out of commission for a while, and she'd been banned from using forks.

"I've told you that isn't my name."

Allison was a small framed girl, the type most people would look at and deem breakable. True enough, physical strength wasn't her forte, but she had other ways of looking after herself. She stood just below five feet, her wavy black hair coming just past her shoulders, and her eyes were a dull, dingy green against pale skin. After all, she hadn't been allowed outside in months.

"You know I can't call you anything else."

Allison's voice came out steady and calm even through her building frustration. _Allison_. They'd been calling her that wretched name since she was born, and she hated it. "Your policies confuse me, Doctor. I don't see why you won't call me by my name."

The doctor ignored her this time and continued on. "Will you tell me about your mother and father?"

"I've told you before."

"I'd like to hear again. I'll sign you off on sessions for the week if you'll cooperate."

Allison was silent for a long moment, but she did comply. The doctor knew her well; of course, she'd only do something when it benefitted herself.

"My father used to make me sit for hours and listen to him," she started. "He would tell me stories of his younger days, when things were simple, and he didn't have a half-witted little thing like me to take care of. He told me over and over how he met my mother – that she was a whore who'd drugged and seduced him and then run off as soon as I'd been born – and how she'd given birth to me, a devil child, come to bring him misfortune and, ultimately, damnation…."

"_Daddy, did I do something wrong?"_

_Allison's tiny head poked up in the direction of her father; he was angry again. It happened nearly every day, and every day she asked the same question. "It's story time, baby," he would tell her, and she'd be made to take a seat in the floor – she wasn't allowed to sit on the furniture. Once, when she'd asked why, she'd been locked away in the basement for nearly three days with out food or water. He'd rushed her to the hospital after that, telling them he'd been searching for her for days and had found her only that morning traipsing through the city by herself. The doctors had said she was lucky to live. She hadn't ever questioned his methods again; it had been her own fault, after all. So, when told to sit, she obeyed, sitting in the middle of the floor so that she might not accidentally touch any of his possessions. She was lucky enough, he'd told her, that she was allowed to walk on his floors and have his roof over her head._

_And when she'd sat, he'd told her the story of her mother's and his meeting for the millionth time. He'd been on his way home from work when he'd seen her. It had been raining, and her slumped form had been walking down the road; he'd stopped to offer her a ride, which she'd happily accepted. They' d talked for some time when she'd admitted to having no place to go, and he'd immediately – being the Christian man he was – offered his home up to her. Again, she accepted, but when he'd asked her to join him in having a drink, she'd slipped something into his glass. He couldn't remember the night after that. She'd had her way with him, of course, and she when she'd found out she was pregnant, she'd decided to stick around for a while. He'd let her out of fear of what his fellow church members and co-workers would think, but she'd taken off and left him with the child as soon as she'd been born._

_When he'd finished the tale he'd said, "Do you understand now, Allison?"_

_And when she'd said no, his hand had come down hard on her cheek.  
_

"That night was the first time father ever beat me."

"And it happened often after that?"

"Seldom at first and more and more often over the next few years. It was nearly an every day thing by the time I was ten."

"Will you tell me about the night you murdered him?"

"Helped him," Allison corrected and paused. "Father did something to me that night that he'd never done before. He'd let me go out firstly, something unheard of in my home, and spend time with the friends I didn't really have. He'd told me to be back by ten. I got home at 10:03…"

_He was sitting on the couch waiting for her when she opened the door. The television was on, the screen showing nothing but fuzz, and she froze when she saw him. He wasn't looking at her; in fact, he hadn't moved since she'd entered the door and so she closed it quietly behind herself and approached him slowly._

"_Father?"_

_He didn't answer her, so she drew closer. Her brows furrowed together in confusion at his state. His face was tear streaked. His eyes hung open wide, and his dark hair stuck out in all directions. She turned her head and looked at the television and then back at him again._

"_Father." _

_She knelt down and reached out towards him, stopping just short of actually making any sort of physical contact. He was shaking, she noticed, and his mouth was moving, murmuring inaudible words. She considered speaking to him again, but decided against it, standing and turning away instead. She'd only taken two steps when it happened._

"_Turn your back," he murmured, barely audible. "..t-turn your back.."  
_

"It all happened so fast, he had me by the arm and on the ground before I knew what happened," she said. "'You're late,' he said and he hit me. He kept hitting me, so when I saw an opening, I ran. I ran to the kitchen, and I grabbed a knife and I killed him."

When she'd finished, her balding therapist leaned back in his seat with a defeated sigh. "You're hiding, Allison," he told her. "I know you, and I know when you're lying."

"That's my story," she told him.

"And you're still sticking to it." Their sessions had ended in that same way time after time, and the statement had gone from question to assumption. He didn't wait for her to respond; he knew she wouldn't. Instead, he went on, probing for more information. "Please, Allison. I'm here to help. Tell me the truth. Please let me help you."

Her expression didn't change as she stood, pushing back the rickety wooden chair she'd been sitting in. It was only when she turned away from him that she let her expression fall into hopelessness. "You're here to condemn." She paused for a moment, reconstructing her look of composure before glancing back at him. "I'd like to go back to my cell now."

* * *

The morning breeze was light, and Hannah grinned, happy at the good weather, as she raised her hand and pushed her blond hair out of her face. She'd arrived in Santa Carla the night before, and had woken early ready to start the mission she'd set out on.

"_Mom?"_

"_Hm?" The older, blonde-haired woman had answered._

"_Have you ever been with anyone other than dad?"_

"_Of course not, honey," her mother had replied, letting out a small laugh, but her voice had raised when she'd said it. "Why do you ask?" _

"_Just curious," she'd responded, knowing from her mother's tone that it wasn't a topic to be pushed. Her mother had opened her mouth as if to respond but had paused and closed it again._

_Hannah sat at their kitchen table, her head resting comfortably in her palm. She'd turned eighteen a month before and had graduated high school two weeks before that. She'd been off visiting a college in Oklahoma when she'd been mistaken for someone else. Allison, they'd called her, and the stares she'd received had held a mixture of pity and accusation. It had happened several times throughout the day; someone would greet her and skirt cautiously out of her path. Several would simply glance at her, then at the ground and walk the opposite direction, glancing back only once they reached a fair distance. It had been towards the end of her visit, when things had started to come together._

_She was to catch a bus shortly, and she'd gone into a small convenience store across the street from the bus station. A bell jingled when she opened the door and a young man peered out from behind the counter at her. She gave him a small smile, and when his face paled and his eyes grew wide, she quickly averted her gaze. It was the same look she'd been getting from everyone else, but as she walked to the back of the store, she glanced back every few moment to see his gazed still on her. By the time she'd pulled out a bottle of water and walked back up to the register, he'd seemed to have managed to avert his gaze._

_He was the first to break the silence. "$1.08."_

_She didn't respond at first, and the boy followed her gaze to a photo that had been tucked under the register. He grabbed it up quickly, face reddening and had stuffed it back underneath. "A friend," he said quickly._

"_That's why you're staring," Hannah had said, more matter-of-factly than caring. "What's her name?"_

_He'd looked away while answering. "It was Allison." Hannah waited, but he didn't offer any more information. Instead he repeated himself. "$1.08."_

_Hannah pushed her money across the counter and pushed on. "Was? Did she die or something?" The boy had sent her a horrified look._

"_N-no," he'd stuttered. "She just... had to leave."_

"_She did something horrible," Hannah concluded._

"_Of course not!"_

"_Then someone did something horrible to her."_

_The boy let out a snort, quickly cashed out her purchase and shoved her change across the counter. "It's none of your business," he chortled before turning away and stalking through an oversized door frame and out of sight._

_Hannah didn't thing twice about her reaction. She had her arm across the counter, pulling the photo out from its hiding spot. She let out an over-exaggerated gasp when she saw the face on it clearly. She was over the counter and in the back room seconds later. She stopped dead in front of the boys face and held the photo up next to her head so that he'd have to see them side by side._

"_She looks just like me," she stated. "And people have been calling me by her name all day! Just tell me who she is! People are scared of her; their acting like they're scared of me. Just what did she do that was so horrible?"_

_He let out another snort. "She's prettier than you," he spat but he let out a sigh, and spoke calmer. "Look, I'm sure it's frustrating.. all these people you don't know mistaking you for someone else. You just look a lot like her."_

"_My hair is a different color." Hannah had withdrawn the photo, and she was looking at it again. "My eyes too." She looked back up at him. "She looks more like my mother, now that I think about it._

_The boy laughed this time, though it was more condescending than actually amused. "Are you really making the assumption that you're related to Allison?"_

"_I am," Hannah responded, and her tone turned to pleading. "Please tell me who she is."_

"_A friend, alright?"_

"_You don't really expect that response to satisfy me, do you?" She raised an expectant eyebrow._

_He let out another sigh and backed away from her, placing himself in a chair a few feet away from where she stood. "I met her in first grade," he started. "I never really knew anything bad was going on. I mean, I saw her every day, but I had no idea until it was too late." Hannah had perched herself on a desk on the opposite side of the small room, her eyes now intent on the boy in front of her. "I don't know exactly what happened; no one does, but they found her downtown sleeping by the cross in the Grand Cathedral. She was all covered in blood and mumbling I guess, so the preacher called an ambulance, and they rushed her to the hospital. They tried calling her dad to let him know, but he never did answer or show up at the hospital. It was in the newspaper, of course. That's how I found out, so I went to see her as soon as I saw it."_

"_And?"_

"_And she wouldn't respond to anything I said to her, just kept mumbling something I couldn't understand. I just got the word 'father,' so I figured something bad had happened. I thought her dad and her might've gotten in to some trouble, so I went over to her house to see if I could find him." _

_He got quiet then, and she urged him on. "And you found him?"_

_He nodded. "Dead."_

"_Dead?"_

"_Dead," he repeated. "Stabbed to death." He was looking down at his lap, wiping his now sweating palms against his trousers. "The police ruled it a homicide, and Allison got convicted for the crime."_

"_She was a murderer?" Hannah's expression had turned horrified and she averted her gaze from the boy. She chanced a glance back at him and immediately regretted it. He looked pissed. In fact, she wasn't sure she'd ever seen a more intent glare in her life._

"_She was a victim." He placed a great amount of emphasis on the word victim. "Her and her father were both good Christian people. They went to church every Sunday; they whole community knew them."_

"_Then why did the community convict her?"_

_He looked at his lap again. "They didn't know her like I did. She didn't really talk to a lot of people, just went to school and church and went home. She was pretty shy."_

"_So people are mistaking her for me because they never really saw much of her."_

"_And because she'd been gone for four years."_

"_In jail?"_

"_In and out of different jails and wards. Her father's murder was hard on her."_

"_Who do you think killed him?"_

_He shrugged and turned his grim face back up so that his brown eyes met hers. "No idea, but Allison isn't a killer. Whatever happened, it killed her a little too. All that on top of being blamed for it, and I can't imagine anyone would stay entirely sane."  
_

She'd asked where to find Allison after that, but the boy had refused, so she'd given the photo back and left after that. She'd stopped at the police station next, but had been refused there too. It was back at home that she'd gotten her answers. A friend of hers, the adorable little nerd that he was, had hacked his way into the small town's police records and had somehow managed to track down the information Hannah had wanted.

Her name was Allison Marie Hamilton, she was currently located in a high security prison in Santa Carla, California, and they did indeed share the same mother.


	2. Truth Doesn't Make A Noise

Okay, a few things. I'm terribly sorry for such a long wait between updates guy! And as you can see I have changed the pairing for this story. I can't guarantee I won't do it again (Sorry!), but I have lots of fun shit in store for this story, so I hope you all keep reading and love it! I will also be making a few minor corrections to the first chapter soon. But nothing major, mostly just grammar and spelling, and clearing up a few things I things that didn't really make sense. This one will be a little short, but I wanted to at least get _something_ to you guys. And I promise the boys will be in the next chapter!

Special thanks to Emzy2k11, Bane's Muse, and Dobbie for reviewing. You guys are fantastic, and I hope my long break in updates won't keep you from reading more!

**Disclaimer:** Unfortunately, I do not own the lost boys or any other characters or places from the movie. :[ If I did, I'd be running around in eighties jumpsuits and leather on the back of David's motorcycle.

* * *

**Truth Doesn't Make A Noise**

Allison's face was blank, as void of emotion as always, when he sat down in front of her. Her hair was tangled and left unbrushed and the skin about her eyes drooped. She hadn't been sleeping, but then, that was nothing unusual. She took her seat just moments after he did, and he flashed her a friendly smile.

"Max," she greeted.

"How have you been, Allison?"

She flinched. She always did when he spoke her birth name. Max had been the one to give her her true name, but she knew well that he couldn't call her by it here. She'd heard it only once – the night he'd given it to her. Here, he always called her Allison. He came once a month or so, and his visits were always short. He was just checking up on her – checking up on his pet. Still, she gave him a small smile. Max was the only one she ever smiled for.

"Things don't change here, Max."

He gave a small laugh at that. "No, I suppose they don't." And then he leaned over and pulled a small basket up off the floor. He'd hidden it there behind him before she'd entered the room. He sat on the table with a small clunk and pushed it towards her. "I brought you something. Chocolate chip. Your favorite, am I right?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Muffins?"

"I can't bring my favorite niece something nice every once in a while?"

His cover for coming to see her. He was her dear uncle. He loved her dearly and simply did not believe here capable of the tragic end that had befallen her father. His "brother."

She picked up the one on top and bit into it. "Thank you." Try as she might, she couldn't stop the small sound that rose up from the back of her throat. Her mouth watered, and she took another bite. Prison food could never measure up to the treats Max occasionally brought her.

"There, I knew you'd like them," he said with the same goofy grin he always had when he came to see her plastered on his face.

She didn't let on about it, but she knew well enough that there was probably a reason for the gift, and so she laid the rest of the treat back on top of the basket. She look closer later, when there weren't two guard standing only a few feet away.

"You should sleep more, you know." He looked worried, but she knew better. She played along.

She smiled at him, an empty smile. "I'll try, Max."

"Nightmares?"

She nodded and looked down at the table. That much was true. She could fall asleep easy enough. The nightmares didn't wake her up, but a night of them would haunt her for days. So she simply deemed not to sleep – or to sleep as little as possible.

"Just keep talking to Dr. Thompson," Max told her. "He's here to help you. I wish you'd open up to him more." Always the concerned uncle.

"I'll try."

"Thata girl," he encouraged. He reached across the table, grabbed her hand and gave it a small squeeze.

It was all she could do not to cringe away. She didn't like being touched, not even by Max who was the closest thing she had to a friend in the world. Instead she gave him the warmest smile she could muster. She'd grown accustom to the loving exchange over the last few years. As far as she was concerned, the uncle lie was enough, but she wouldn't question Max.

"You take care of yourself, Allison. I'll come see you again soon. You need anything, you get them to give me a call."

"I will."

She let his hand go, and he scooted his chair back. The guards were behind her before Max could even stand up. She stood, hands behind her back, and one guard locked on the cuffs. The other eyed the muffin basket, picked it up and followed Allison and the first guard out the door.

Max shuffled out past them and a third guard escorted him back towards the front of the building. It was on this short trip that he saw her. Long blonde hair like her mothers, brown eyes like her father. He'd seen her the night before on the boardwalk. She walked past him without acknowledgment, her own escort moving only a few feet in front of her, and he smiled. It had been so long, but he recognize her anywhere.

* * *

The bars had just closed behind her when the guards took her back to the visitation room. She couldn't imagine who would come to see her; Max was the only one who ever did. There was a girl sitting in her uncles chair when she entered. The two guards removed the cuffs silently and allowed Allison to sit, though she noticed they stood a bit closer this time, apparently not trusting her with the newcomer.

Allison looked at the girl across from her. She was pretty, no doubt, and there was something familiar about her. The hair? The eyes? No, those were different, but she was sure she'd seen the face before. The girl was silent; she held her hands together tightly, and her lips had set themselves in a nervous quiver.

"Well?"

The girl started but gained some composure. She held out her hand. "I'm Hannah."

"What can I help you with, Hannah?" Her voice was flat, bored.

"Uhm... well.." She was wavering again. "I.. I uhh.."

Allison let out a sigh. "Look, Hannah, as you can see I'm a very busy person." She motioned around herself as if showing the younger girl all of the completely legitimate things she had to do. "I've got people to maim and muffins to eat. So if you wouldn't mind, I'd appreciate it if you'd just spit it out."

Confusion. Then irritation. But it worked. Hannah pushed a piece of paper across the table, and Allison picked it up.

"You have a copy of my birth certificate," she stated slowly. She took a moment to examine closer, running her fingers over the seal. "_Why_ do you have a copy of my birth certificate?"

Hannah pushed another piece of paper towards her.

"And your birth certificate?"

"We have the same mother."

Allison looked at the two sheets to confirm this. "They're fake," she concluded and passed them back.

Hannah frowned. "They're not," she argued, but she leaned forward and pulled Allison's hands into her own. "Listen, Allie. I worked really hard to find you, and I really want to get to know you. I never knew I had a sister before, honest. I'd have been here if I did."

"Allie?" Allison pulled her hands from Hannah's, making sure her 'sister' saw as she wiped them on her pant legs.

Hannah gave her a nasty look, clearly offended. "I'm not a leper, Allie."

"And I'm not a killer."

"I know." She looked sad now.

"I was being sarcastic."

"I don't believe that."

"Good thing these guards are here then."

That was all it took. The guard stepped forward one recuffed her as the other gave Hannah a small smile. "We'll have to cut it short, ma'am. The guard in the hall will escort you back to the front of the building."

Hannah stood and faced her sister. "I won't give up on you, Allie. I'll come see you again soon, so take care of yourself."

Allison only had a moment before the door closed behind her. She sent the younger girl a pointed stare. "If you're going to keep showing up, then call me by my real name. It's Desdemona."


End file.
